Three Spirits
by bellasera
Summary: Three spirits of the past, present, and future visit Christine. Will they alter the way she perceives the tragic events of the Paris Opera or simply drive her into madness?
1. Chapter 1

Gracious! It seems forever since I have had time to write, or even think about writing. So until school is out for summer I shall go through and edit and clean my current stories. I can't seem to stop loving POTO fiction...and there are some **wonderful **works on here. I hope my contribution is worthy of your time. So here is the edited version of _Three Spirits._

~~~~~~Bellasera

Time.

It never ceases...

Even in the darkness of a night so moonless, so bereft of illumination I am able to hear every minuscule footstep of each second pounding closer in my skull.

_Tick...Tick..._.

I wish for it to slow, to stop, but it fails to halt its incessant march forward. Every beat in every second seems to last as though a conductor has frozen the musicians into performing an eternal ostinato...a cadence that does not match the rapidity of my panicked thoughts.

But each second does pass, unable to be recaptured and another repeats the sound. Seconds...minutes... hours.

_Hours..._Mere hours are all I have left until I become a Viscountess. When I am bound...until death...to Raoul.

_Tick... tick...tick_...

The room, in its entire frivolous and aristocratic enormity, is closing in around me. Every stroke of the clock's pendulum seems to bring the walls nearer and nearer upon me. Gulps of air do not help to calm this racing heart of mine, and I leap from the bed. Stumbling through the all-consuming darkness I head towards the double doors that lead to my balcony.

The cool spring air rushes over me as I wrench open the panels and fly to the railing. The goose flesh that covers me… is it from the eerie feelings or the cooler air? I know not, but my robe will not relieve it...the chill is worth the price. _Anything_ rather than reentry into that foreboding room. My hands grip the rail with intensity, a desperate willing of my body to gather its control, and to pass on that good sense to my racing mind. I gulp another series of breaths, careless of whether the damp night air will send me into pneumonia.

I care about fewer things these days.

My eyes strain in the darkness, observing the shadowy outlines in the central courtyard. It is the epitome of luxury, this townhouse residence of the de Chagny family, and far enough from the _Opera_ to be considered a safe haven. My treatment here varies depending upon the person interacting with me. Some see a fragile girl who has endured too much tragedy in her life. Others see a potential madwoman in their midst- one who speaks of ghosts and angels and is perhaps possessed by the Devil himself. Perhaps like many others, I am just the cunning chorus girl who wants a more comfortable life and a higher rung on the societal ladder

I am none of these.

Or maybe all of these.

The sounds of another breeze blowing through the budding trees whispers as it continues on its journey. Wind is much like time, always moving on. Time… by this time tomorrow it will not be the room enclosing, encasing me, but Raoul's arms. I should find comfort in that, as I should a great many other things, but my soul now seems a perpetual winter.

Raoul will not speak of **that** night, other than a reference to "that unfortunate incident." He will only talk of our grand future- the wedding, the travel…children. Many times I have noticed he proceeds with an idea or confirms a choice as if I am not even in the same room. My mind is rarely in the room with him, but I always nod when he repeats again "I will take care of you Little Lotte."

I shiver again in the night, my thin robe and chemise poor protection from the chill of the air. It would be a blessing if the cold could erase the thoughts in my mind as well as it erases the feeling in my extremities. Then perhaps I could relive something other than that night.

NO!

The protest forms again in my mind…_do not mention, do not think of that night._

Too late…too late…

Yes.

It is too late Erik. Too late for me, foolish girl that I was, that I am.

But will another wrong in this mad sequence of events really even matter? I have too many things on a list of wishful second chances, and every item relates to you.

It is ingrained in my memory, burned there…the last sight I had of you.

I, simple, foolish Christine…I did not deserve your tears Erik. Your confession of love to me…I deserved it far less. I fled when I should have stayed, feared what I should have embraced, and now I am left here. Could it be any more lonely seven floors below the earth than it is here in the cold night air?

I wait, hoping…but no answers call back to me. With a last glance at the dark courtyard I decide to return to my room.

It is, after all only a room.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_The rope tightens, the trickle of water sounds like rapids, and the trio of human lives waits for me to..._

**"MAKE YOUR CHOICE!"**

The lasso is around _my_ neck, strangling the last guttural sound out of me.

"Erik!"

I shoot upright as my hands traverse my neck, unsure if I have escaped the nightmare again or not. Only my clammy skin is beneath my fingertips. The real noose is tightening in my mind as I hear the words echo again and again.

_"You try my patience...Make your choice_..."

I did...I did... I did! I did! I made my choice...the wrong one. The tears slide down my cheeks, cold against my colder skin. I shiver at the repetition of the scene playing in my mind.

Wait! I did choose you. I did. I know. I remember! God in Heaven Erik! That kiss wasn't to spare Raoul, but to save us. But a kiss could not erase the cruelty of my words.

_Your soul is the distortion! An Angel of Music? You're the Devil of my mind, and **you** have made me hate you._

No kiss would erase such additions to the litany of horrid remarks in your life would it?

"I did choose you Erik." I whisper to the dark room. "But now it is all wrong and too late"

"It is never too late dear child."

I know that voice!

Voice? I am alone, there is no one here to hear me.

"I hear you, Christine"

**Oh God! I am not mad...not mad...  
**  
As insane as I know it to be I have to answer. "Papa?"

"Yes, child."

"Oh." A sigh escapes me as I realize that I am still asleep. Not mad, just traveling from one dream to the next. "It's been a long time since I dreamed of you, Papa."

"No child. No dreams." I squint from the brightness of the translucent shape coming towards me, strangely feeling no fear. "Tonight, dear Christine I am but the first of three visitors...spirits of your past, present, and potential future."

Just tell yourself to wake up Christine...

Even as my eyes close against the sight, my mind tells me that the apparition will not have vanished when they reopen.

My open eyes find the spirit closer to my bed, the face of my beloved father there, transparent and shimmery, but unmistakably Gustave Daae. Feelings long buried rush through me, as if I am a child of eight who once more wishes for nothing but the safety of their parent's arms. With such a wish in my mind it is impossible to resist, and I reach out...my arms passing through his shape as if it were a mere fog in my room,

"My darling girl, I cannot embrace you in this form I occupy, but perhaps what you discover tonight will be of greater worth."

My heart pounds as the realization of how much pain could have been avoided if he had but shown up earlier, had been my promised Angel of Music. "Why Papa? Why now?"

The silvery image floats until it seems to be sitting upon the edge of my bed. "I am not the one who dictates when a messenger is dispatched. I only know that I am grateful for the opportunity."

My father stares at me for a long moment before continuing. "You have grown into such a beautiful young woman!" He reaches a finger towards my cheek before remembering it will do him no good, and sighs. "You are so like your mother...in looks and... I thought only your mother could sing so beautifully, Oh Christine I have heard angels sing! And your voice my child! What a beautiful instrument it has become...it is like an angel!"

_Please Papa...don't mention angels. You may have heard them, but I have tasted the tears of one_.

"I don't sing anymore Papa...not since...not...well it's been several months." My _revered_ voice tightens. "And it does not matter now."

"I know about all of that my child, but..."

"NO! There is nothing else. I may as well stop dreaming because there will be no stage, no ovations, no glorious career." I will him to understand. "A viscountess is not allowed to do such things"

"And you will let your soul wither away, deny it the use of the talent you were born with?"

Even in ghostly form my father's scolding tone affects me and I look away, unwilling to lie. Instead I say nothing at all. There are no words that I can say which will not bring forth another flood of tears. Raoul's refusal to discuss the _incident_ does not mean he is willing to let me sing again. He (I mean _we_ of course) studiously avoids any situations where I might be requested to perform, and so my hopes for my music fade into nothingness.

"Dreams matter child. They give us hope, something to strive for. Are you willing to sacrifice everything for this?" His ghostly arm motions and instantly the room is illuminated, the fire and candlelight reflecting off the polished wood and marble.

"Please Papa...don't."

"Why Christine? Why? Your voice, your music **is** you. Deny it and you choke part of your own soul. The melodies and rhythms that flow through you are as precious as the blood in your veins. If you wish to die, why be so agonizingly slow about it child? Why this?"

"I..." A single tear escapes as thoughts of **him **fill my mind. How many hours did you spend Erik, training me, pushing me, preparing me for my dream...making it your dream as well. And I...I turned your dream into another nightmare. I do not deserve my dream.

"Come Christine...it is time for us to go."

"Go?" The sudden change of topic flusters my poor mind further. "Go where?"

The ghost of my father stands, and all the candles in the room go out save one. He smiles at me again. "Where you can learn the importance of using the talent you are given."

"But it is the middle of the night." I feel ridiculous stating such an obvious fact, but then again how often does one converse with a ghost?

"Come," His transparent arm motions to the one lit candle left resting upon my bedside table. "Pick up the candle and we can depart."

The compulsion of a child's obedience to her parent overtakes any hesitation I feel as I reach for the candle. The instant it is in my hand the room whirls into a dizzying kaleidoscope, my bed disappearing from underneath me. I feel free as I adjust to the odd sensations, as if the rules of gravity no longer apply. Papa is beside me and wherever we are going, surely it cannot be as bad as where I have already been.

My candle suddenly goes out as my feet hit upon firm ground once more. The lamps upon the unfamiliar street adequately take over the duties of my meager and now extinguished candle. A couple strolls past me, completely unnoticing of a young woman standing on the sidewalk in her nightclothes, and I catch wisps of conversation in German.

As I turn to ask Papa the most obvious question, I find him paying no mind to me. Instead he is walking...floating...moving towards a magnificent building. I follow him, my morbid curiosity getting the best of me, stopping as he does in front of the poster adorning the entry.

My German is sadly lacking, most of my training in the Italian and French operas so popular right now, but the picture is unmistakable. "Mama?"

Papa nods as he continues to stare. "I had forgotten how much I loved this performance." He suddenly seems aware that I am waiting for some sort of explanation. "We are in Munich in 1852. This is the famous Bayerische Staatsoper and your Maman is singing the role of Elsa in Wagner's _Lohengrin_."

"Mama." I repeat it again, the word sounding strangely comforting at a time in my life where I doubted I could ever find solace in anything.

"She is the star...the diva...'the voice sent from heaven' more than one review said of her. By this performance she had traveled over most of the continent as well as England. But here...this night, this performance was unforgettable." He floated in his ghostly way towards the entrance, pausing to look at me and ask "Are you coming child?" before he passed cleanly through the thick doors.

The ground feels genuine underneath my feet and I touch my arm, again confirming my own substantial existence. Yet I cannot deny that there is some trepidation in my mind as I walk up the steps. Do I proceed as a normal being would...as I believe my own self is able to do? Or am I expected to enter as my father did?

A sigh of relief escapes my lips as the door's handle is grasped by my hand and easily opened. I walk through to find Papa there waiting, a look of amusement upon his face.

"Forgive me little one, I forgot to explain all this when we arrived. You are still as solidly human as you ever were, but you remain invisible, silent and hidden to everyone except me. Now come along Christine...you can not miss this."

I have no time to enjoy the beautiful entry, as I hurry and follow. I can hear the music pouring from the auditorium, a men's chorus, a rich baritone. I don't understand the words, but the tension and tone in the melody is evidence of a conflict. As my father passes through the main auditorium door, I follow in the conventional manner, freezing in place as the first sonorous wave hits.

In Lichter Waffen Scheine _In splendid, shining armour _  
ein Ritter nahte da,_ a knight approached,  
_so tugendlicher Reine _a man of such pure virtue _  
ich keinen noch ersah _as I had never seen before_:

I keep walking towards the stage, drawn like a moth to the light that is _her_ voice. The richness of tone enraptures and captivates the audience as well. There are no other sounds... none of the soft chatter that always penetrates the music during the productions in Paris. Only the waves of music are tangible as I continue down the center aisle.

Ein golden Horn zur Hüften, _a golden horn at his side_,  
gelehnet auf sein Schwert, - _leaning on a sword _-  
so trat er aus den Lüften _thus he appeared to me  
_zu mir, der Recke wert; _from nowhere, this warrior true _

I stop when I reach the front, standing right behind the conductor in the pit. As the music swells I turn my head and suddenly realize it is my father seated in the concertmaster's place. Sweat is visible upon his brow as he coaxes the violin to match the timbre and beauty of the voice. I look back and forth from my mother to my father, and the realization hits me that she is singing to him now. He knows it as well and turns but slightly to smile up at her, the motion never interrupting his own masterful performance.

mit züchtigem Gebaren _with kindly gestures  
_gab Tröstung er mir ein; - _he gave me comfort_;  
des Ritters will ich wahren, _I will wait for the knight_,  
er soll mein Streiter sein _he shall be my champion _

The ovation halts the performance, the pounding applause echoing the thunderous rhythm of my heart as I watch my mother bow in acknowledgement. Then all is dark again.

A scream pierces the darkness almost immediately, a sharp horrifying cry that makes my skin want to crawl from my bones. My candle reignites itself, the tiny light a feeble weapon against the ebony cloak of darkness.

"Papa?"

A door cracks open across the black void- a sliver of light escaping as a softer moan is heard.

"Papa?"

"I am here." And he is, inhabiting the space beside me once again, the look on his face indescribable.

"What is wrong? Where is the opera house...Maman?"

"For every joy there is pain Christine. Does the prospect of the latter make the former worth the risk?"

"I don't understand."

A high wail escapes the room again and the door suddenly slams shut. My father looks across the distance with an inconsolable pain in his eyes. Each strangled cry that seeps from the room causes another degree of tenseness to appear in his ghostly countenance.

"After _Lohengrin_, I proposed to your mother, sure she would reject me, praising God when she did not. We married and then spent two wonderful years traveling and performing. By the time we arrived in Paris it was spring and your mother was_ enciente_. She felt well enough throughout the summer and early fall to sing in several galas. Indeed I had thought her beautiful the moment I first laid eyes upon her, but every month she..."

His voice falls to a whisper and I strain to hear him continue. "She was simply exquisite, the epitome of beauty and talent and I was constantly amazed that she was mine. Fall came, then the holidays, but Elise stayed in. I performed and then would return home to her. It was a blissful, wonderful life...love, music, waiting for you to arrive. So _this _caught me off guard..."

The door reopens and I can now see the figures of my father and a physician, the latter consoling the former who falls upon his knees sobbing.

"Go Christine...learn what you must. I cannot enter that room again." His ghostly hand brushes over my cheek; I feel but a hint of a breeze behind its passing. "One viewing of such is enough for any lifetime...or afterlife. Godspeed my daughter."

In the blink of an eye I am alone...again.

I will wake up now.

I will not go in there.

"Haven't I seen enough people suffer because of me?" I shout at the empty space. "Why this too? I know she died because of me!"

"No Christine." My father's voice surrounds me in the dark space. "She lives on because of you."

His words bolster my spirit for a moment, and I walk...one hesitant step after another towards that ajar door.

"I can't..." The weakly spoken words no longer have the vibrancy of the woman who graced the stages of Europe's finest opera houses.

"Madame...you must. It is your child's only hope."

_No no no...I cannot do this.._. "Why? How will this help me?" My pleas mix with sobs...some mine and some from the woman struggling vainly to expel my sorry carcass from her body. "Seeing this nightmare can do no good! Or is this part of some punishment?" I am irate now, the months of pent up anger, frustration, and heartbreak more that I can hold back "Why not just go ahead and let me die?"

"Go in Christine and find out."

_Get it over with...then you can wake up._

_Why? What is there to wake up for?_

The bleating, wet cry of an infant interrupts my contemplation, my damnable sense of curiosity getting the best of me, forcing my body into the room.

It is an odd sensation, quite an oxymoron in fact, to walk into such a well lit room when I know it is the place where my mother draws her last breath. I think the presence of such illumination upon this agonizing tableau is cruelty in itself. Sunlight in December should not be so strong, indeed the only thing stronger is the lingering presence of death. It is patiently waiting to claim such easy quarry.

But warmth? No, no, no of course you will find no warmth here Christine. This light illuminates death, and fails to warm the soul. I could burn in the fire that roars beneath the mantel, burn a thousand times over and yet my soul would be frozen.

"Hello my darling." I am brought back from the depths of my morbid wanderings by the hoarse whisper of my mother's voice. The physician has wrapped me in a blanket and is holding me close to my mother. I feel the lump form in my throat as she tries and fails to lift her arms to take me. "Please..."

"Of course, Madame." He tucks me in the crook of Maman's arm and moves her other arm over me. The vibrant ruddiness of my newborn skin is a sharp contrast to the pale, sweat streaked countenance of my mother. The doctor busily tries to tidy the room, assumingly for my father's appearance as my mother watches me.

For the briefest of moments I can see my mother imagining that everything is alright, that perhaps by Christmas she can...and then with a grimace the moment is broken, a fresh rush of blood seeping through the sheets.

"Monsieur?"

"Oui, Madame, I shall fetch him immediately." The doctor wastes no time, hurrying past me to the door. He closes it behind, and I don't want to imagine the fresh tears upon my father's face as he receives the news.

"Ahh ma petite...so many many things to say, and not enough time. But ..."

I am drawn to the bedside, desperate to know, to remember this love...to hear what words are said.

"My little one...you...are the best parts of me and your papa..."

My father comes rushing in now, a horrid attempt at a brave look upon his face. "Elise?"

"Come here, ma coeur." My mother smiles before another grimace takes over. I hear the drip now as the saturated sheet leaks crimson upon the floor, each bright drop a disparity to the seeping pallor of my mother's once vivacious complexion. My father complies immediately, moving to the side of the bed opposite my invisible self.

"She is as beautiful as her mother."

The look in my mother's eyes, one of complete adoration, shall stay imprinted with me as long as I draw breath.

"Watch out my love, your Papa has such charm." She smiles at me again, before turning serious. "I must tell you both...must tell..." Her eyes close...

"Elise?" My father's voice catches as he grabs her hand. I see her weakly squeeze back before her eyes meet his.

"Love endures all things." She turns her head to look at my infant self. "Never forget that my precious daughter. It is the most precious gift, and know that as long as you draw breath on this earth you have all of my love."

It is almost too much for me to bear, watching as she kisses my forehead. It seems to take all her remaining strength to pull my father's hand to her mouth, the dry, parched lips weakly kissing it before my father cups her cheek in a gentle caress.

"You are my world, Gustave. Love her as much as you love me...do not blame her for this. It is... whatever is meant to be." She closes her eyes and sighs softly, and I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood... praying for some means or magic to trade places with her, to spare my parents this pain, to do something right for once.

"You are my world Elise, I..." He blinks back another tear. "I am blessed...I..." At this he gives up and falls sobbing upon my mother's shoulder, his words of love blurring amongst his tears of despair. I stand there watching my mother's life seep from her body as my father begs God for a miracle. His tear stained face raises from her body as she gently pats his shoulder.

"I love you Gustave. Thank you...for the best years of my life, and for my beautiful daughter. Name her...after Maman...will you?"

"Yes love...anything."

She smiles again, a smile so beautiful that not even death could mar it. "It doesn't hurt now." A soft gurgle emits from the bundle, and with immense effort she turns that smile towards the infant me. "I love you, my precious girl."

I am now crying unabashedly, grateful that I am invisible to those in this room. Aren't I? For as sure as I am that I cannot be seen (which as I think about it, I am not very sure at all) my mother, on her deathbed, looks straight at me.

"There is nothing greater than love, Christine." Her breath is shallow now, but her intense gaze never leaves me, her voice steady as she continues. "Denial of love...more painful death than this. Remember... Christine...love endures all things."

Her eyes close and this time they remain so, her last breath no more than a whisper against the sobs of my father.

He kisses her cheek one last time and then gingerly picks me up. "Well Christine Elise Daae, I guess it is just you and me now." He looks again at the body of his wife. "I will do my best, my love."

_You did fine Papa...it is my own mistakes...my own foolishness that has destroyed everything...everyone...the most important one.._

"We all make mistakes my daughter." I freeze as my mother's voice sounds clearly in my ears. I turn and look around...the room is empty, my mother's corpse still upon its bloody mattress. Yet the voice continues on...

"Mistakes are part of life, it is the choice you make afterwards. Repair the mistake or make another one?"

"It's not the same."

"Yes Christine...it is...love endures all things."

"Erik has endured enough thanks to my love...I will not hurt him again."

"You will see my child...you will see."

In an instant I hear the ticking of the damned clock, and I blink as I realize I am back in my room. Back? Ha! I did not go anywhere...simply some entertaining delusions...nerves before a wedding...ghosts indeed!

"Ha!" I call out to the dark room. "It is my imagination...nothing more! Nothing more!"

"I am afraid you are mistaken Christine." A familiar voice says in the darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for the kind reviews! I had forgotten how much I enjoyed writing this story...have had about as much fun with the re-editing of it . Please beware of some language in this chapter! So onward we go!

Chapter 3

My eyes fail me once again, the fragile candle flame having perished on my return journey from...well wherever I have been. I twist around in the darkness in an effort to discover the presence in my chamber.

"Calm yourself child."

The voice is beside my bed now, familiar and soothing. Another lone taper ignites and I find myself meeting the cool, stern gaze of my former ballet mistress.

A sigh of blessed relief escapes me. "Oh _Madame_...I am so relieved to see you. The horrid dreams I have had..."

It suddenly dawns on me to wonder how she has managed to appear here, in my room. Considering she has not (to the extent of my knowledge) ever visited this residence, it seems even more odd that she would choose to do so in the middle of the night. I rack my wretched mind in an attempt to glean some explanation and again come up empty.

"Oh God!" The horrifying thought, the only possible reason for her presence here at this moment intrudes my mind. "You're dead? What has happened?"

I have had no news of the Opera or my friends who lived in its employ since Raoul took me away that fateful night. But surely I would have been told if something had happened...wouldn't I?

"Were you hurt? Ill? Madame I do not understand!"

She sits beside me and I feel the weight of desperation and worry lift off my shoulders as the bed sinks underneath her. She is real...alive...well. And I am sane.

"No Christine... you are not mad, nor am I mortally injured in any way. But I am here for a most important reason."

"How did you get in here?" I interrupt. "I heard no one enter, and the house is secured as well as any bank. Have you been here all evening? Why..."

She takes my shoulders in her iron grasp and gently shakes me to halt my questioning tirade. "Hush! I shall explain everything. Understood?" Her stern gaze had never failed to cower me and now in combination with her physical actions I silence immediately.

"Now... the reason I am here Christine, is for you to become aware of what is going on in **this** time, right now, in **this** home. Things you have either ignored or been kept ignorant of affect you, _and_ those you care about. It is time to know the truth."

"Truth?" I seem to have a developed a penchant for echoing all things said to me this evening. Perhaps it is a habit developed from months of simply repeating 'Yes dear' to all inquiries and comments made to me. Madame simply regards me with the same patience she has shown to her wayward charge these many years.

"Christine, surely you know that things are not always as they seem."

Now this is the most enormous understatement I have ever heard, and I grit my teeth in ill concealed frustration. "Indeed...most things are far from what they appear to be. Angels who are murderers, friends who are enemies, lies and deceit in the place of truth. Yes, things are rarely as they seem. As a matter of fact I am still pondering exactly how you manage to be here at this time of night."

She smiles at me, an odd thing I have rarely observed upon her stern countenance. "Well I thought your spine had wilted away with the rest of you. It is good to see a bit of fire in you...you will need it sooner than you think my dear."

She stands, stretching as though to loosen a stiff muscle. "As for the manner of my appearance here at this time of night..." Her hand reaches out, her familiar black cane appearing in a dazzling flash of light. "Some things are perhaps better left unexplained."

Before I have the opportunity to question my current guide about her definition of truth she reaches for me, and a sudden rush of nervousness comes over me. Perhaps this is **not** the woman I had grown up with, who for all practical purposes was my mother. I draw away but she is swift, tenacious as her thin hand grabs my own.

"I don't want to..."

"Christine." Her eyes soften even as her grip remains strong upon me. "I have promised that I would do this, and I cannot fail."

It is upon my lips to ask to whom this insane promise has been made (Of course who am I to label anything insane at this point in time?) But before I have any opportunity to voice my question, my hand is placed upon the cold metallic top of her cane.

_Cold?_ How could I think that it is cold? A burn rushes from the cane, spreading up my arm and across my chest. By the time it completes its fiery journey through my body, I am left upon my knees in a breathless and stunned, yet strangely painless heap upon the floor. But this is not the floor of my room.

"Come ma petite..." How she has appeared beside me is not a line of thinking I feel worthy of pondering at the moment, but I reach for her hand again and am easily pulled to stand. "I hope this does not take too long."

Before I have the opportunity to question my current guide about where or when we are, another voice interjects.

"Are you quite sure you wish to go through with this?"

I glance around the dim chamber, suddenly recognizing it as the drawing room of the de Chagny residence. This is strange, and completely in opposition to the means by which Madame and I have just traveled, for surely if we are not in some otherworldly form then we could simply have taken the stairs.

Then a familiar silhouette crosses to the table, picking up the near empty decanter of brandy before answering. "Philippe, it is not as if there is much choice in the matter."

"There's always a choice. Call the whole damned affair off."

I relax as I realize this is no surprise. Raoul's family has been against this engagement from the start. Even dressed in my nightclothes, I am fully prepared to finally give Philippe a piece of my mind. I walk closer to the marble hearth, its radiant warmth echoing the heat of the rising temper within me.

"How very kind of you dear broth..." My words, ignored from the outset by both men, now fade into a whimper as my fiance passes through me as he returns to his chair. The sensation of a corporeal form passing through one as evidently invisible as myself has no truly adequate description- suffice to say I am more than a little unsettled.

Madame glances at me as she moves, now standing behind Raoul's armchair. The occupants of the room are frozen in place with a wave of her thin hand as I stare in disbelief, wondering if I am visited by a spirit or a sorceress.

"The explanation your father gave you holds true here as well Christine. Though you may inhabit this house in a physical form, for now you can neither be seen nor heard. Your purpose is to listen."

"Listen to what?" I answer in exasperation. "I know what they think about me...I have heard every snide little version. It's quite an easy feat to listen in when every servant in the household discusses what the Dowager has just said about a chorus girl becoming the next Viscountess." Many times I had not even needed to try and conceal my presence. The staff of the de Chagny household considered me an intruder, a usurper who was actually lower than their own station. Therefore the only reasoning left was to gossip, regardless of my presence or absence.

"I am not referring to servants' gossip Christine, nor the remarks of a spoiled and petulant Countess." She looks at the man still completely frozen in his chair. "What does he think?"

My mouth opens...then closes as I stare at this inanimate fiance of mine. He looks so much the same man as he did that night upon the roof of the opera. Or does he? Perhaps a few evidences of that time remain, the lingering tightness around his mouth, the shadows under his eyes...although I am more sure those can be attributed to the oddity of being frozen in place. Hell...even the events of a busy day can make a person look so...so...well surely nothing else has changed.

"Fine." Meeting Madame's eyes with what I hope is a determined gaze, I continue. "I am sure...I already know, but if it makes this...this...visitation end faster then I am more than willing to hear whatever it is so important."

She smiled, a sad smile really, and then with another wave of her hand the room is once again filled with a most serious conversation.

"I can't Philippe...not now."

"And why the hell not?" His brother takes an indecently large gulp of brandy before continuing. "Better now than tomorrow after all vows are said and done."

There is an uncomfortable silence as I watch a number of tortured expressions cross Raoul's face.

"She's different, Philippe." His eyes are hollow as he meets his brother's curious gaze. "Empty...a shell. I thought getting her away from the opera would help...but."

"What?" His brother's concern is obvious.

"I can't help wondering...every time I look at Christine I see her kissing that **thing**." He pauses. "I had the chance to kill it...him... I should have...but I stopped because of her. Yet..."

He stands and starts a restless pace across the polished floors. "So why in God's name did she not simply do the same when the tables were turned? She didn't beg or plead for **my** life..." Raoul's words increase with the faster tempo of his steps. " And one kiss, a distraction _perhaps_...but Philippe all I can see, all that repeats in my mind is that she kissed him not _once_, not _briefly_...but as if her life would end if she stopped."

"So why continue with this mon frere? Such doubts are not the way to start a marriage?"

"As if you would care, so long as I did not marry a chorus girl."

My eyes widen as Philippe jumps up and grabs his younger brother by the collar. "Contrary to what you believe, you besotted fool, I do care about your happiness. And this obviously isn't happiness."

"Happiness?" Raoul shrugs as his brother releases his collar. "Who the hell knows what happiness is anymore?"

_You do a fair job of acting happy my dear fiancee._

"Just for once...will you explain this ridiculous ...outrageous mess to me? I have heard bits and pieces, the rumors..."

"And of course those are less than flattering to the family name..." Raoul snaps as he brings his glass to his lips again.

"Fils de putin!" Phillipe's fist makes brutal contact with Raoul's jaw, the force of the unexpected blow sending the snifter into the fire. The flash of alcohol enhanced flames startles them both enough to prevent any further punches, and my usually elegant and composed fiance sinks to the floor in a dejected heap.

"Forgive me brother.." Raoul absently rubs his jaw. "It's just...this was not supposed to turn out this way.'

"Well then explain to me...what was supposed to happen?"

I do not know if I can adequately explain what I expect to hear from his lips, but I am certainly unprepared for the next six words.

"I never intended to marry her."

_No..._

"Honestly Philippe, surely you believe me."

_I did believe you..._

"I had not seen her since we were children... for God's sake it's not as if I had thought of her every day...hell until the gala I didn't even know she was at the Opera!"

I look at the ring upon my left hand and am filled with a sudden urge to grab one of the ornamental daggers from the wall...

"I though to say hello after the gala performance, and yes Philippe, I admit when I saw her in the dressing room..."

"You were overwhelmed with love?" Philippe asks sardonically.

"No of course not...I am not nor I have ever been overwhelmed by love!"

_All these months...the promises, endearments...declarations...nothing._

"So why? How the hell did you get into this mess?"

Raoul pauses, struggling. Whether it is a struggle to find the right words (are there truly any right words in such a situation?) or to simply and finally dare admit aloud the horrid truth, I am unsure. But as his emotions are plainly readable upon his face, I realize that no matter what words are chosen, each one will be another dagger into this brutally beaten heart of mine.

"I don't know," Raoul looks at his elder brother imploringly. "It's God's truth Philippe. I didn't...I thought dinner and maybe- well hell you know how the stage girls are...I thought..."

"To take a mistress?'

"Well, not even anything permanent. You know as well as I that the plans were to leave for Italy with Uncle Laurent and Charles in June."

_First mention I have heard of Italy...what else has been so conveniently withheld dear fiance?_

"So you planned to fuck a childhood acquaintance because..."

"Well **look** at her for Christ's sake! I mean...besides that...she's an orphan and surely she could have used some extra income."

_Oh mon Dieu..._

"Well she'll certainly have the extra income now. I still don't see how you got from potential bed partner to fiancee."

Raoul jumps up from the floor, crossing to the table and takes a most ungentlemanly gulp directly from the brandy decanter.

"When I came back to her room that night, to escort her to dinner...the door was locked. I could hear voices, talking, singing, and then ...nothing. I know what it was now-that damnable thing had a secret passage...but there was no force. She left willingly."

"So why bother?"

"Damn Philippe- maybe because I do care about her welfare...and there was so much damnable drama going on...all the mess with who was singing and who wasn't, salary demands from a damn Ghost...I mean really I thought as Patrons we just gave the damn fools some money to produce a two hour screech fest every so often."

_Screech fest? It is my art...my love..._

"And for the new diva to have disappeared after last being seen with the new patron?"

"Well you are the one always bringing up the family's reputation..." It is Raoul's turn to be sarcastic.

"And the current situation is such an improvement compared to that." Philippe's half cocked eyebrow is nearly identical in expression to his younger brother's as he continues. "So have you fucked her yet or not? Because, dear brother if the answer to that is no...then cut your losses and call this farce of an engagement off now."

My eyes clench shut as hands cover my ears, willing this ghastly conversation to evaporate from my hearing.

"Please ...please" I implore my supernatural companion, refusing to visually acknowledge her. "Take me back...away from this...this..."

"This is the truth Christine."

And they are frozen again.

"This is what has been said, whispered and discussed in the same house of a family you plan to bind yourself to"

"No...Raoul is...is different."

"Different from what child?" Madame comes and puts her arms around me, a comforting embrace, truly...it is so tempting to let loose and cry out my hurt and hate out at this moment. But I cannot be weak, have I not been that far too much already? "He is a man, one of the aristocracy, not the child you ran and played with. Whatever you may have thought..."

"Then why? Why would he tell me one thing, words of love and affection and wanting to marry me...he isn't lying to me...he is lying to Philippe. Anything to get his brother to stop bothering him about us?"

Her hand pats my back gently. "Dear child, you were sheltered too much...my fault perhaps, you had enough trauma losing both parents I thought. But Christine, why are you trying to convince me of Raoul's motives?"

"Why are you trying to fool me into thinking otherwise?"

"Very well." She steps away from me and the conversation resumes.

"I tried damage control, brother. Keeping the engagement a secret while pretending I did not want to keep it secret was fairly easy...she is not... well I mean dancers as a rule are not the most intelligent of girls. But then I acquiesced to attending that damned masquerade."

"Yes indeed Raoul, I imagine that having another man rip your engagement ring from the bosom of your intended is one way to announce it all to the world."

"Well I could have called it off quietly otherwise. Left a note and left for Italy...I mean surely she can not be that infatuated with me. We hadn't seen one another for ten years, Philippe, and I can say I doubt she spent that time thinking about me, especially with that _thing_ living there."

"And what about this _thing_? Does she speak of it...have you asked her?"

"Asked her what?"

"What the relationship was of course. I mean bad enough that you want to bring a common dancer into the family, but if the bitch has already been compromised..." Philippe gave his brother a shrug. "It truly is grounds for me to force you to cancel this wedding."

"She's not compromised." Raoul meets his brother's gaze. "She says she hadn't...didn't and I believe her."

"Yet she kissed it, and I am quoting you here brother, as if her life would end."

"I know, but the way that thing acted... it was as surprised. Surely if something else had happened previously that would not have been it's reaction."

_It? Thing? _My heart constricts as they talk of you in such a way. Why are they talking about you at all? Why bring up the past to make excuses for the future?

"Maybe...maybe not." Philippe sighs in defeat. "It is your life to ruin little brother. You know where I stand."

"Indeed."

They sip their brandy quietly now as I turn to Madame. "You...you have made this up."

"May your next visitor have more luck convincing you Christine. I have only shown you what was already taking place."

"And for what? What good does this do?" I wipe the traitorous tear off of my cheek. "I am to marry Raoul tomorrow and you want to convince me that I am ruining his life. He _asked _me! I didn't beg him to rescue me..."

_Did I? _

"He loves me, as I do him."

_Christine I love you..._I clutch my head as the words invade my soul.

"It is not Raoul's voice you hear is it, child?"

"What does it matter now?" I do not think to question how she knows that it is **your** plea, **your** last words running through my mind.

"It always matters."

"Not this time...I will wed tomorrow. And then...spend the rest of my days trying to forget."

"And you will fail." With that she disappears, the room falling from beneath my feet and I land, blinded by the light.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I marvel at the ability of the human mind to comprehend...one minute I am conversing with my former teacher, arguing over the direction I choose for my life and the next I find myself here.

"May your next visitor have more luck convincing you." Madame's disembodied voice echoes around me.

Well...

I look to my left.

To my right.

I see no one. Certainly not another "visitor"!

I turn in a full circle before I feel the laughter bubbling out of me. My arms extend as I continue my whirling dervish, around and around and around again, until the dizziness takes over and I land upon the soft grass in a laughing heap.

Oh it feels wonderful to laugh again and it is an easy day to do so, surrounded by beauty and sunshine and absolutely no hint of another ghostly specter visiting me!

Really Christine! I chide myself harshly. Such nightmares are simply due to nerves. Who wouldn't be a nervous wreck with all I have been though these many months? They finally caught up with me...that is all there is to it, plain and simple.

I turn over on my stomach, delighting in watching a butterfly alight upon the bright petals of a blooming tulip. Its legs, so thin, so fragile, amaze me as I watch it dance upon the petals before settling to its meal of nectar. The breeze that barely ruffles my hair offends the insect much more, flying off in search of a calmer meal. I wonder for a moment what he thinks about such an interruption.

_"What does he think?" Madame's words repeat in my mind._

NO! I refuse to let memories spoil my moment, certainly not memories from a ridiculous dream! Certain that a stroll will clear my head and calm my nerves, I rise and stretch and then begin to explore.

The park is crowded. (Indeed on such a fine spring day what else can one expect?) A veritable plethora of people are assembled here. There are couples, young and old, strolling the paths as they admire the flowers along the borders. The little lake has its own occupants. Here and there are a funny mixture of graceful swans and couples in boats. Gangly young suitors, both human and swan attempt to impress their respective female companions. Underneath the shade tree an artist sits, oblivious to the world... concentrating only upon his masterpiece.

As I stroll through such an idyllic setting I realize that I am tired. Odd sensation I think, to be tired when all I have done is dream. Ah...but dreams like the ones prior to this...surely such intensity can drain a person even while she sleeps? Simple enough... I do want to rest a bit and at least here I can do so. No hemorrhaging, no screams, no aristocratic arguments.

One will takes a moment's peace where she can find it.

I glance around again, but all the benches in this area are occupied and even in a dream I find myself desiring to sit like a proper lady rather than to fall upon the grass again.

Lady? I nearly laugh at the thought. What lady walks around the park in her nightclothes? I think about a suitable dress intently...willing it to appear, but my powers apparently do not extend to conjuring up clothing. No matter, since it seems that no has taken notice of my current state of dress.

I walk on, glad that this path is shaded, the overlapping branches forming a cooling canopy against the warm midday sun. There is a small crowd ahead, and for a brief moment I wonder what has caught their attention. It is then I hear the violin. The surrounding ensemble of listeners are enthralled by the music.

_Music_

_Melody_

_Phrase_

_Tone_

Even in the smallest increment I hear **your** touch upon this...this.. this hypnotic flow of sound. Morbid yet peaceful, simple yet so emotionally complex...such music can only come from one source.

"No!" I scream with all the power my trained lungs can provide. The crowd, startled by the interruption, turns and observes me as if I am someone who has escaped from the local sanitarium. I can only stand there, shaking as I wait for the inevitable.

The crowd parts, watching me as they move back. I cannot blink, cannot force my gaze from whom I know I am about to see. Truly a ghost this time, not of the past, present, or future, but the ghost who has consumed my thoughts since the last time I lay eyes upon his form. It is apparently time to pay the piper for this macabre dance I have found myself whirling uncontrollably to.

What can this possibly tell me about my future...other than it shall be one of bland and frivolous entertainments of the aristocracy...simply a life to be...

Not Erik.

An old man holding a worn violin stares curiously at me as the crowd begins to disperse.

"Is there something you would like to hear mademoiselle?"

I shake my head dumbly, wondering if I have imagined the music heard just moments before. He begins to play again, a simple dancing tune that in no way resembles the masterpiece or the virtuoso I swore had just been playing.

A small monkey comes from behind the man, jumping around almost in time to the music before picking up a pair of toy cymbals and clacking them loudly. The children around the scene laugh as I can gape in pseudo horror at the little animal so similar to the one upon that music box.

Enough! This is my dream...I am not required to stay and be tortured by useless memories.

I turn and walk away, leaving the shadows, the music, and the damned monkey as I find my way back into the warm sunshine.

Yes! The light counters the darkness, the looming shadows that have plagued me for so long. I do not believe there is anything that could completely remove the gloom that lingers in my soul, save for what I know is utterly impossible. But this temporary respite is a blessed relief, particularly after the horrors of earlier. Each step down the gravel path relaxes me more and more and finally a smile finds its place upon my face.

My smile echoes the laughter I hear. So many forms...a soft chuckle from couples arm in arm, a guffaw and teasing from old men engrossed in a chess game, children's high pitched squeals as they run in a game of tag. Laughter is such a balm to hurts, such a ...

Through the laughter around me comes the faint sound, the unmistakable sound of a child's attempt to hold back tears. I look around in an effort to locate the source, wondering if someone was hurt in a game or perhaps not allowed to play.

Ah there she is, standing away from the group that is still running like mad around the grassy field. Even facing away from me I can see her arm bend as she wipes at her face.

"Petite fille!" I call. "La petite fille viennent ici!"

Her only acknowledgement is a tightening of her posture, a cringe.

Ridiculous! I only want to help! I walk towards her as I call again. "Ma petite..."

It is then she breaks into a run.

My clothing hampers me, the garments becoming heavier with each step as I try to close the distance. The people who I had but moments before been observing as leisurely park dwellers are now diversions, barriers in my chase.

"Wait!" I call over and over as I try in vain to reach her, her sobs so audible...so familiar to my ears. I push past more people in a now desperate effort to gain some ground, almost falling several times, the gravel bruising my feet through the soft slippers. I am ready to quit, the burn in my lungs and limbs mirroring the hurt in my ears from the girl's continued cries. And then...

She has stopped.

I do the same, staying several feet away in an effort not to startle her again. I want so badly to help this girl, for what reason I do not know, but it is a compulsion, a necessity that I do something, anything. No one else seems interested or concerned... perhaps _this_ is my chance at redemption?

"Ma jeune fille..." I walk slowly, keeping my voice as calm as I possibly can (considering I am well out of breath, this is no easy feat). I gently place my hand upon her shoulder, this caress rewarded only by the sound of harder sobbing.

"Little one...what is it?" The cries, a horrid contrast to the bright and beautiful day, muffle her answer.

"Please...surely I can help." Of course I can...this is my dream I can make everything alright. "Nothing can be so bad...especially on a day like this."

"What is so wonderful about a day I will never have?"

"Never have?" I cock my head in bewilderment at this statement. "You are here now...so how can this day be something you never have?"

"Because you never have me..." The grey-green eyes meet mine as she turns.

"You...you are..." My words fail me as I behold a miniature of myself and ... "this is not real...not possible."

"Why?" The face before me holds too much knowledge. "Is it anymore impossible than traveling with your father to see your own birth, or to hear the truth of your fiance's intentions after he passes through your form! How can it be any less realistic that I could exist...given the chance."

"I am not with Erik..."

"By your choice...and your choice is what decides it all."

"It's too late!" My voice rises with the wind, the dark clouds sweeping in as my anger pours out. "I can't go back, there is no undoing what has been done!"

Her tears start again as she shakes her head at me. "Don't you see? It is not the undoing of the past...that is impossible...but the acknowledgement of mistake...the rebirth...a new chance...for me it is the only chance."

"No! I won't be guilted into this foolish idea by some...some product of my imagination! You are not real!"

"I could be." Her tears slide down the youthful cheeks, and I watch in horror as this time they burn her skin, taking the flesh with them.

"Stop!" I reach out to her but she backs away the tears still freely flowing.

"I could be, Maman."

"Don't call me that!" The skin is gone now save for a few tattered edges and yet the acidic tears continue, burning now through the cloth they fall upon.

"Don't deny me..." Her words are hoarse, the holes in her throat punctuating the words with wheezing gasps of air. One step back, then another before her body gives way and she falls to the ground.

In an instant I am holding her, shaking as much as the frail form trembling in my arms. "Oh God...forgive me, forgive me!"

Those beautiful eyes look back at me, the only beauty left in a face now so marred the white of the bones are visible. "Forgive him...then forgive yourself."

"I can't...I don't deserve forgiveness after what I did to him."

The muscles pull the mouth into what may have been a smile. "He loves you despite all. Love yourself enough not to go down this path." Her last breath is taken in, the exhalation of it bringing a blinding squall of wind. The body of my daughter disappears into dust, carried by the howling gales.

The dust surrounds me, obliterating my view of the serene park. I cannot tell if the wail I hear is that of the wind or the disembodied cry of the child I had just held in my arms. The grains pellet me mercilessly and I wonder if my sins, now weighing against my soul, are the indicator of the strength of the cyclone around me. Now I can only crouch down, hiding face and eyes from the horrid assault, and pray for mercy...for relief...though I deserve none.

It is several long moments before I realize the noise has dissipated, the swirling storm gone with it. I stay in my crouch, hoping to remain hidden from whatever torture may yet await me. Through the thin material of my dressing gown, my skin tells me I am no longer in my warm, relaxing park. It is cold here, wherever here has become, and the chill seems a warning unto itself

A hand settles lightly upon my shoulder, only the barest hint of weight upon me, and yet I cringe from the coldness of the touch. I will it to disappear.

"Come. You must see this."

I refuse, shaking my head as I begin reciting a long forgotten prayer, hoping it will shield me from further torment.

"Maman, you must come."

This child, my child, stays stoic and solid beside me, though moments before she was dust in my arms. Ashes to ashes...dust to dust... who knew that God's Angel of Death would be my own flesh and blood, here to lead me to my final judgment? If it is His will then what choice do I have against a higher power? For all the pain, for every deception and untruth, there is always a price to pay.

_Christine...I love you._

I had hoped to make amends before now. Oh Erik. For my sake as well as your own...

_Love conquers all my daughter..._

It is too late, Mama. Love cannot conquer the pain I caused him.

My daughter...

I turn and meet those familiar and beautiful eyes, the only beauty left in a ravaged shell of a body.. "I'm sorry."

"I know."

Her voice tells me even in this acknowledgement I am still expected to follow where she leads. Resigned to my fate, I stand and nod at her.

We travel in semidarkness for an unknown length of time, the only sounds my footsteps upon the narrow gravel path. My guide makes no sound, vocal or otherwise, and her solemn nature takes away my desire to question her intentions. Unlike the visits from my father and Madame, I have no lingering curiosity to learn what she may have to teach me.

The cold air has developed an accompanying dampness, moisture fusing to my form as I carefully tread through the thickening fog.

"Wait!" I call out to her as I realize she has vanished. "Wait! Where are you? Where do I go? Where are y-" I hit the ground, my pleas silenced by my collision with the hard object in front of me.

"Damn it!" I rub my bruised leg, trying to alleviate the sting as I gingerly stand. "Can I not just be struck down by lightning or something? Or am I to fall over everything until I break my..."

Viscountess Christine Elise de Chagny Beloved Wife

"neck."

My body is a container of lead, sinking to the damp ground that seems to be the final resting place of my mortal remains. Perhaps I am meant to just lie down and go now...surely that is too peaceful an exit for one such as me. I reread the words carved there in the marble, hoping perhaps there is another in this world with my name.

My guide is watching for my reaction, I feel her intense gaze upon me. Does she expect me to wail and scream...beg for another chance...there is no need. When one is already dead inside does the confirmation of the end of your mortal days have any importance?

I shrug at her. "It is what I deserve."

"YOU think everything still revolves around you?" The venom in the question startles me. "You're right! IT does but not in the way you think! You had the chance to be the one to heal, to love, to give someone else a chance at redemption...to give me a chance to live...yet you are afraid...afraid to live...to enjoy...to make full use of your opportunity and your gifts...you selfish bitch!"

"How dare you! You...you know NOTHING! You weren't manipulated...lied to...threatened..."

"EXCUSES!" Her broken face is a hauntingly familiar reminder of another's. "Your excuses! Did you ever think about telling him the truth? Telling anyone the truth? Start with yourself!"

"I KNOW what I've done!"

"You won't admit what you feel!" Her laugh is dry, hoarse...horrible. "Everything you have or haven't done is caused because you lie to yourself!" She turns, an ethereal glow from her palm illuminating the headstone beside my own. "You are not the only one affected."

I stare in horror as the engraved words meet my eyes...Viscount Raoul Michael Charles de Chagny, beloved son, brother, and husband.

"What? When?" I brush away the cobwebs and debris from the lower part of the tombstones. "When?"

April 17 1871

"No...that's ..."

"A week after the wedding."

"What?"

"You marry, you go on a honeymoon, and you die...both of you." She gives a macabre smile. "And myself of course...though technically I don't exist do I? You accused him of so many sins...but who is the real murderer in the grand scheme of it all?"

The ground opens suddenly, a rush of heat and flame exploding from it. I scoot back, my skirts twisting, impeding my escape.

Her death's head leers at me. "What's the matter Mother? You were so eager to give up moments ago...surely the fires of hell are what you wanted?"

"No!" The ground trembles, disintegrates beneath me. My hands flail wildly for a hold, tangling in dirt and roots as she comes to loom over me.

"How is this different from the hell you create by denying love?"

The sulfurous fumes burn my throat, the heat growing more and more. "Deny...I tried to save him!"

"Then admit it!"

A rush of fire singes my back, but she does not shy away...her eyes...his eyes...burn me far deeper. "YES...I love Erik! I am dead without him...nothing at all...without him ...nothing else matters." My anger flares then. "So let me burn! There is no pain greater than what I have already seen...already done!"

She smiles as a tear slides down her marred cheek. "He loves you too Mother, and love conquers all."

My tenacious grip evaporates and the burning ring of fire swallows me.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I own none of these wonderful characters...just thought it might be fun to think that Leroux "interviewed" Christine later in life, or maybe found this letter when he was "researching" the history of the Opera Ghost. SO all credit to the paraphrased quote to Mr. Leroux. Onward...

Chapter 5

My Dearest Mama Valerius,

I am aware that my delay is inexcusable. A quickly sent wire to inform you that my wedding to Raoul was abruptly cancelled and I had left the de Chagny home was hardly appropriate, but I had no other choice. I know that you have raised me with so much more in the way of manners, yet the past week has so altered me that I find cohesive thought difficult at best.

Forgive me my ramblings, my Mama. If you had only been able to see the visions! (No I am not mad, not in the least!) The visions that brought me clarity, brought me awareness, brought me the belief that I must be true to my own heart, though it may lead me down a darker and more difficult path. Has it only been a week since I awoke? That a week ago it was the opening of my eyes saving me from the depths of hell...bringing me back to the blessed awareness of my cold bedchamber. But the echo was there...still resounding in my ears! No- not that last maniacal sob of my daughter as I fell into the depths...but the echo of my own admission.

I love Erik.

Who is Erik? He is the Opera Ghost.

Yes, the Opera Ghost is real my dear Mama. He really exists! He is not a creature of the imagination or superstition although he assumed the complete appearance of a real phantom! He is as flesh and blood as any man on God's earth, but his shadow is of a "spectral" shade.

Who is Erik? He is my Angel of Music, long promised by Papa. He is the voice of Heaven itself, with the ability to make the Blessed Virgin herself weep. He has made my voice the instrument of glory that has been noticed far beyond the walls of the Opera.

Who is Erik? He is the one who holds my heart, regardless of shortcomings and failings by us both.

There is only him...he owns me, a willing slave...there is only him.

I have so much to explain. So much to confess. I have to confess...

Where was I? My humblest apologies for my ramblings. As I said the past week has been tumultuous both in events and emotions...still I know it is no excuse for not relating what has occurred. You may not believe me, my dearest Mama, the events that led up to my decision. Most people would call it madness to terminate an engagement the day of the wedding, to leave with only the clothes upon her back, and the few coins in her possession. But I did it...and I am not mad.

I left Raoul standing there in the foyer utterly dumbfounded. He could not understand how I had learned that I was originally intended to only be a mistress. Perhaps he can now go to Italy as he wanted, it is not my concern any longer. My goal was to find Erik.

I hope it is obvious since I am writing to you now that I have found him, but this reunion...I cannot say what I expected, but simply tell you what has happened.  
I will not rewrite the details of the reasons that made me leave Raoul...you would surely think me insane if I told you those. There have been moments that I have wondered if it was all real, or a product of my own desperate heart, which seemed to know far better than my mind what I truly wanted.

Wanted.

It is a wonderful thing to be wanted, to be treasured above anyone and anything. That is all Erik ever wanted, you know, all _any_ of us ever want. To share with, believe in, hold and love someone who does the same for you. That I nearly condemned myself to a living hell is almost beyond my belief, for how can you exist without that...knowing it was once within your reach?.

I am rambling again aren't I? Truthfully if you can read any of this and understand my meanderings than you truly know me well. Well, I promised details of my journey in the wire and now you shall have them.

I left the de Chagny house, my clothes hastily donned and hair in utter disarray. I had no desire to stay there one moment longer, and not because I knew what Raoul had intended me to become but because my heart was seven floors below the Opera and I could bear the separation no longer.

I may sound sure of myself as I write this, but truthfully I had no idea if Erik was still there. I had heard reports of course, that they had found his home after Raoul and I fled, but no trace of the "ghost" who had occupied i was discovered. Would he have stayed there in his formerly beloved opera, or made an attempt to escape the Populaire, Paris, and all the horrid memories contained within? I would not have blamed Erik for wanting to do the latter, but I had no other choice but to hope that he was still there, and still alive, within the damaged marble and mortar.

The journey across Paris takes much longer when you are no longer in the accoutrements of the aristocracy. I walked a good portion of the way, few carriages believing that I carried any coin of worth. Here I was not the celebrated ingenue of the Opera, nor the fiancee of a son belonging to one of the oldest surviving aristocratic families in France.

No. Here I was another common woman, disheveled and unchaperoned. I can assure you, my bravery was want to wane as I traveled as quickly as possible through the less desirable areas of the city. Perhaps there were angels watching over my passage, knowing the desperation in my journey. For whatever reason I finally reached the steps of the once beautiful Opera Populaire.

I had not seen this place since the night Raoul and I fled, but even then we had left through the side entrance. This was the first time I had seen the damage caused by the fire. It, the fire I refer to, is perhaps as much my fault as Erik's. Would he have done this if I had not unmasked him before everyone? Would we have simply made an escape together if I had been able to tell him the truth that night on the stage as he bared his soul to me? It is to late for these answers, but I beg forgiveness as well for my lack in judgement. Perhaps the rebuilt Opera (for I did see the signs of the contractors hired to renovate) can heal this past wound.

I walked around to the same side entrance that I had left by, unwilling to journey through the foyer and its lingering memories of the Masquerade. I have even examined that event numerous times. I should have seen it so much sooner, for if I had truly loved Raoul why would I want to return to the Opera? The answer is so simple now, and it is the same reason I returned to this place.

So many months, so much time...yet I was sure that I could remember the paths down below. The dressing room mirror was broken, the exposed passageway covered with boards, as though a few pieces of lumber could have stopped Erik from doing anything. I found it almost amusing...almost...that someone had taken the time to write a curse against the Opera Ghost. I looked around the messy room in an attempt to find anything to dislodge them, succeeding as a I wielded a candelabra with what I thought was an impressive show of strength.

The damp air flowed freely as I pulled the last barrier away and stepped into the passage. It had not changed- dank, moldy, and cobwebs everywhere. The twists and turns were much harder to navigate without _his_ presence, but in having nowhere to turn back to one is sometimes forced to journey into the darkness. I had no candle, torch, or lantern to illuminate my way, my hands glided along the stone walls as I strained my ears for the sound of lapping water signaling that I had finally reached the lake

My lack of vision extended to the dilemma I now found myself in, for I having safely reached the lake I now had no means or ways by which to cross it. I felt blindly around in the dark, hoping that perhaps the boat had been docked here, yet knowing if that were the case it meant in all probability that Erik was gone from this place. My search became frantic, a sob escaped as my hands found only empty air upon the shore. I could not...would not give up.

My next sob was silenced as the cold leather covered my mouth, the heat from the skin encased within burning against my lips. The voice, still a dark sinister velvet, hissed against my ear, "What the hell are you doing here, Madame?"

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

I had found him. Or to be more precise Erik had found me.

My reply was muffled by the weight of his gloved hand against my mouth. Erik released me roughly, so much so that when I stumbled away both feet met the icy water of the lake. I backed out as quickly as possible, turning in the encompassing darkness in an effort to relocate him. Erik was still near, I could feel his presence more than hear him, and certainly there was no light to let me know exactly where he was.

There was a scrape, a flicker of light and then the small lantern upon the stone floor released its poor glow. I forced a shiver away as I followed the feeble light upwards ( I swear it was from the cold mind you, not any fear I felt...once you have felt the flames of hell there are few things you truly fear, and my Erik was not one of those...no never again would I fear him.) but it was too late...he backed into the shadows.

"I asked you a question, Madame." His voice was colder than the dark waters of the lake.

"I..I was looking for you."

"Indeed? And should I be expecting the gendarmes at any moment? I am surprised they did not think to use you sooner."

"There is no one Erik...I am alone...I swear it."

"Ah yes...and I above anyone should be well aware of the worth of your sworn word. False promises are becoming quite your area of expertise Christine."

His words cut, I would be lying if I said they did not, but I could not retort harshly, for in God's truth knowing the pain I had caused him I was willing to endure anything for this opportunity.

"I know you are angry and.."

"Angry, Madame? You know nothing..." He stepped into the light then, his eyes flashing fire only a fraction before his hands grabbed my shoulders and yanked me to him. He was unmasked, but each side of his face, both the perfect and the marred, radiated the pain in his voice as he continued.

"You, you spoiled little bitch...did you not sheathe your dagger far enough into my heart the last time?"

"Erik I am sorry! You frightened me..."

"Yes I did, didn't I?" His grip tightened on my shoulders as he pulled me even closer. "Monsieur le Fantome is famous for that didn't you know? Or do I dare assume you were a totally ignorant fool about the opera ghost...that the tales of his infamous face weren't true?"

"No it wasn't that.."

"Of course it wasn't! Christine is afraid of many things other than poor, pitiful Erik! Even a spider cannot remain innocent in your world! And it has no cause to be considered ugly like Erik. Spiders are the way they are supposed to be! But a face like this! Christine cannot imagine that a benevolent God could create such a horror!" His face contorted with the effort to hold back tears. I remained frozen and silent in his grasp, unable to argue with any of his truths. How could God do this to someone?

"Enough with your lies!" The golden eyes turned to slits, reminding me of a snake ready to strike." That is what you are best at is it not, Madame? One can imagine the tale you told your husband to come here...or is he perhaps lurking around the corner waiting for your signal to shoot?" He gave a dramatic turn, dragging me with him as he searched for other intruders.

"I told you...I am alone."

"And why is that Madame? Did you lose some trinket on your last visit to my home? Something your precious Viscount couldn't replace?"

"There is."

"And what is that Madame?"

"You."

"Don't mock me Madame, I no longer have the patience for your childish games."

"Stop calling me Madame!" My temper flared at hearing the term again. "I am not married, and I am not playing games!"

Although obviously shocked by my outburst, Erik stood as a stone. The pain in his eyes was almost more than I could bear, and my mind racked itself for the fastest way to explain everything. My arms throbbed as the blood rushed back to the areas released from his harsh grip, yet I refused to either glance or step away from him. He would believe nothing I said.

Would he?

He would not.

So I said nothing and closed the space between us.

This kiss was utterly different from the last we had shared. Last time the tension of life and death hung in the air, the doubts of my reasons for kissing him, the hurt of being sent away...even if it was for my own safety

This time there was freedom, hope, and a numbing passion. Inexperience melted away as the cold paleness of his lips fell upon mine. My hands held his face much the same as the last time, but his hands, those beautiful musician's hands, changed. The last time they hung limply by his side in disbelief, now they pulled me hard against his body, no space left between us at all.

Suddenly Erik's mouth froze on mine as his body stiffened, and a primal groan sounded deep in his throat. With a harshness I was well familiar with he pushed me back, the cold air rushing into the space where his warmth had just been.

"What?" My fingers moved up to lips that were now swollen from his kiss.

"Leave me."

It was my turn now to stand as a stone, frozen in place, in near disbelief at his words.

"I said leave woman! Go!" His anger was formidable indeed, but I had not come here to lose again.

"I can't leave..."

"Oh I assure you it is most simple...take the damned lantern and return the way you came!"

"It isn't..."

I cannot adequately describe the sound Erik emitted then, it overwhelmed the crack of the lantern as his booted foot sent it into the nearest wall. We were sent back into the darkness, in our surroundings and our spirits.

"It isn't what?" I heard the crunch of shattered glass under his boots as he stalked closer, at the edge of any sort of control then. "It isn't enough to emasculate me once and leave for your life of happiness in the sunlight with your golden haired prince? What kind of sadist would do that again...even to a monster?"

The deep breath I took was of no use, the damned cellars were still full of nothing but damp and rot. He would rot by staying here, just as I would have by remaining in the de Chagny home. Prisons and death sentences (even those self imposed ones) come in many forms. Was it too late for freedom, for redemption? Before I had another moment, either to contemplate or speak, my wrist was encircled in that iron grasp.

Erik pulled me through the darkness to stand before him once again, I felt the trembling of ill contained fury radiating from him. "Is that your purpose, little Delilah? To make Erik hope, to believe again and again, until you finally decide to completely destroy him?"

"Erik let me explain..."

"What is there to possibly explain? You have succeeded Christine! Now let this spider die!"

"Succeeded?" I gave up trying to remain calm, for although I was willing to shoulder my share of the blame for the things that went wrong, I would be damned if I was going to be accused that everything-present situation included- was my fault entirely.

Consequences be damned...

"You son of a bitch!" My voice certainly didn't have the qualities of a soprano when raised in anger. "Shall we talk of deception and lies... of impostors and fraud? You, yes you!...are the one who chose to masquerade as an angel, as a ghost, as anything but a man!"

"How dare you..."

"How dare I what Erik? Tell the truth? That the story my father told me came true? Except that the angel was jealous, vengeful, murderous? I admit I was wrong for taking your mask that night...but what frightened me was not what was beneath that white leather...but the rage within you! One moment you ask me to trust you...to touch you...I do and I am cursed to burn in hell!"

"You little..."

My anger was so riled now I cut him off. "What Erik? What curse do you care to throw at me now? I am sure you have spared me none since that night, but remember a student is the reflection of the teacher and I can say I have learned from the master!"

"You needed little training in the area of deceit, but you always were wanting to be entertained. I hope you have enjoyed the evening's amusement." Erik threw my hand away from him as he turned in the darkness.

"I find the truth to be far from amusing Erik, but it is all I have."

"Indeed? Then forget the truth and go back to your world of light and aristocrats."

"I cannot. It is not my world any longer."

"And you expect sympathy? Is that why you venture here? Poor Erik is fool enough to help until someone better comes along. I hate to tell you my dear, but patrons returning to the Opera Populaire seems a distant prospect."

The darkness was the only thing that stopped my fists from trying to make contact with him. Instead I clenched my jaw to the point of near pain before countering, "I do not give a damn about any patrons or about this tomb you have chosen to crawl into and die."

My anxious steps closed the short distance between us, but I refrained from touching him, hoping instead that he would meet me halfway and turn around. I should not have had my expectations so high. I spoke to his back instead.

"You're a stubborn bastard Erik and a bigger fool than I if you think that my purpose in coming back was to humiliate, torture, or pity you." I was sure that the pounding of my heart was audible to him, I certainly was aware of every pulse point in my body, the cadence hammering as I prepared to admit all.

"Maybe it is I who play the role of the fool. What sane woman would have such a man be the one to consume her thoughts? One who takes away all her sense, and makes her wish for it to never return, one who pushes and demands more than she believed she had to give. The truth is that you, not your face, frightened me. Overnight I went from having a demanding, invisible tutor to a flesh and blood man who made me feel and want things I had never imagined. I make no excuses for my mistakes Erik, but that night I chose to stay, I would have stayed with you, and certainly not out of pity. You sent me away..."

"You returned the ring..."

"You had already told me to leave...'

"And I am telling you again...leave Christine."

Again... those words...but this time there was no mob pressing doom upon us, no one's life hanging in the immediate balance and still...the same words. Perhaps the ghosts were wrong...love cannot conquer everything...not for one who has never understood what love meant. Perhaps the closest thing he understood was his passion for music, and at least I might channel that into a proper goodbye.

"Erik...I love you." My voice cracked as it echoed his last words to me from that fateful night.

It was then that I turned, not blindly towards the tunnel that would lead to the surface, but with intent purpose towards the bitter waters of the lake. There was nothing else to be said, I had revealed all, hoped, and lost. It was a simple decision after that, for having been allowed a glimpse of the future I had learned one other very important lesson.

A life without Erik was not a life that I wished to live.

The first icy rush swirled around my calves as I stepped in eagerly, my shoes and stockings instantly saturated. The prickle of numbing flesh occurred more quickly than I had thought it would, a blessing perhaps. Another step, then another...and the sloping bank fell off and the weight of my dress easily helped to pull me under. The water was as black as it was cold, and I smiled. I did not fight, there was no reason left to do so, and this seemed to be a fairly painless way to go. I released the air in my lungs as easily as I gave up my will. Almost done...


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Just a quick explanation on the change in verb tense. The visits of the "spirits" are explained by Christine as they happened. The chapters following the visits are a continuation of the letter to Mama Valerius. Once she finishes her letter it shall be back to the present tense. Hope this removes any confusion! Thank you for all the kind reviews!

Oh Mama...I know that I was committing the gravest of sins. Suicide is the truly unforgivable sin, no? No forgiveness, no last rites, no burial in the cemetery with my blessed parents. But I believed that was my due punishment, I had broken this man to the point that there was no bandaging and healing of wounds. My heart and soul were possessed and now broken as the man who owned them.

But events have a strange way of turning Mama...the tides at le Mont Saint Michele are small compared to ones I have endured in this short life. Obviously my attempt was unsuccessful, and for that I thank my angel. Let me explain...

There was a sudden interruption of my frozen reverie. I was pulled by arm and hair to the surface. The blast of frigid air hurt as much as the strong grip in my tangled hair. I fought that grip- twisting, coughing and sputtering as I tried to resist being pulled back to the bank.

"You damned fool!" He tossed me onto the ground, hovering over me with the air of a vengeful angel as his hands began wringing the water from my clothes and hair. "How could you think to do such a thing?"

I could not answer, my teeth were chattering hard enough for my entire head to shake and the once blissful cold of the water was now a painful sting upon my skin. Erik was as drenched as myself, I could feel the drops falling from him and knew he must be just as horridly uncomfortable.. I was truly frozen in place as he draped his dry cloak around me, hating that I relished not only the warmth of the material but also the familiar scent upon it.

He lifted me as if my weight were no consequence, soaked or not, and began to walk towards the tunnel I had been so recently ordered to. His ability to see so well in the dark had never ceased to amaze me. Erik easily maneuvered through passageways that I could have never managed in the darkness.

"Nnn...no...du..du..du don't t..t..take me...buh...b. .back." My shaking, such violent tremors that Erik's arms trembled from it, made my attempt at speech sound utterly ridiculous, but I could not return to the surface. I wanted to...deserved to...perish in those black waters.

"You little fool...you would never make it." His voice was as steady as he made another turn before carefully setting me upon my feet. One arm remained to bolster me as the other reached and opened a door that I had not noticed, though it was but inches from me. A welcoming warmth flowed from the small room as Erik ushered me in.

A small coal stove was providing the warmth, the light from emanating from several candles. I turned, glancing around the room. It was filled mostly by Erik, his imposing height seemed to dominate the space. I recognized few other things save his violin and the music box. The small bed, chair and table were furnishings I assumed he had pilfered from the Opera after it had been evacuated.

"Here." He handed me a length of cotton and when I stood dumbly looking at it, Erik proceeded to wrap my wet hair in it and set to work drying it.

Minutes of blotting removed the weight of the water from my hair. I began to laugh as I pictured the infamous Opera Ghost as a lady's maid. "Such fearsome tactics to scare the ballet rats would never work." My laughter turned raucous, to the point of tears dripping down my cheeks.

Erik stood there staring at me as if I had lost my mind...perhaps it had frozen in the lake with the remainder of any good sense I had. Finally he broke away and moved to the bed, pulling the blanket from it. He gestured towards the screen in the corner.

"Unless you wish to catch your death, you should not remain in those soaked garments."

I set my jaw stubbornly and pulled the wrap from my hair. "I am quite comfortable and require no further assistance other than to borrow a candle. I will then take my leave of you."

"And have you attempt another crossing my dear? Your attempt to walk on water was unsuccessful the first time. Perhaps the second attempt will give you the abilities of Christ? I think not. Now change before the hypothermia worsens and you invite pneumonia into those lungs."

His infernal calm and logic just angered me more.

"It will be a slower death, perhaps, but the end result will be the same." I retorted sharply.

His eyes flared anger, his cold hands pulling the cape from me before roughly turning me and unfastening my dress, heedless to the buttons flying off at such brutal treatment.

"Why Christine?" I did not know if he was talking to himself or expected me to answer.

"Why? I try to free you, to give you the life you deserve...not this...this thing..."

Erik pulled the ruined cloth from me, the goose flesh upon my blue tinged skin burning as he did so. "You have freedom...life...and you try to drown! What the hell is wrong with you? I am the one sentenced to die here...not you!"

"Wh..why Erik?" My petticoats, stockings and shoes were removed with efficiency, leaving me clad in wet corset and shift.

"Why? You will catch your death of cold if you stay in these." He was the epitome of avoidance now, refusing to look at me in such a state of undress.

"NO! Why are you sentenced to die here? I deserve that as much, if not more than you!"

"Here Christine, I will drape the blanket so you change."

"Damn it Erik! Will you listen to one word I am saying?" I snatched said blanket and threw it across the room, before looking back to one very shocked man. "Be angry with me, hate me if you like, but don't take away my choice again! It is my choice whether I want to live in misery or to end it all! And why does it concern you now? You made it clear you certainly don't want me..."

"Little fool..." Erik walked over, picked up the discarded blanket and wrapped it around me. His hands came up to my face then, his cold fingertips tracing my equally cold jawline. I closed my eyes at the gentle touch, as light as his fingers ever were upon the strings of his violin. I was dizzy, so affected by that touch, I wasn't sure if I heard or imagined the next words from him before the trauma and stress of everything finally blacked the world from my eyes.

"It is the wanting of you that will be the death of me."

TBC


End file.
